The Wallflower Code
by gemiinous
Summary: What happens when Keith trains Pidge in hand-to-hand combat, they end up spending more time together than usual, and everyone in the castle takes notice. (yet another installation of trans kids in space)


The Wallflower Code

* * *

"You too, huh?"

Keith looked up from where he was swirling the luminescent blue liquid in his punch glass. He was momentarily dazzled both by the spots it left behind his eyes, and the sudden return of thumping music to his attention. Leaning against the wall a few feet from him was Pidge, who looked equally awkward and put out. They had their laptop in their arms, held with the heavy sort of exhaustion that spoke of an empty battery and a lack of excuses.

Of course the only other introvert on the ship would understand what Keith was going through. He couldn't help but snort.

"They want me to dance," he said shortly, glaring into his cup and then taking a delicate sip of the alien substance. It was better than nunvil, anyway, but the bitter-sour taste was still disconcerting. It left his tongue tingling and with a vaguely worrisome blue glow.

He wasn't entirely convinced that the effects it had on human physiology were benign, either. Judging by the animated cheering and dancing coming from across the room, nearly overpowering the already booming Altean music, he would suspect that they weren't. Just his luck to be saddled with a bunch of cheerful, drunken idiots.

At least there was Pidge, who was looking at him with undisguised empathy.

"Yeah, me too. I just managed to escape. Do you know why exactly Lance is trying to teach Coran the Macarena?"

Keith shrugged expressively, and Pidge groaned.

"I know he knows better dances than that, so I'm positive he's just doing it to be annoying," they said, huffing. There was a little smirk playing at the corner of their mouth, though, and Keith wasn't sure that Pidge wasn't enjoying themself, at least a little bit.

It had started with boredom, after all.

For a flying castle power by extraterrestrial crystals of a dubious origin—Pidge refused to believe that they were magic, they just couldn't be—there was remarkably few things to do. The Training deck was always open and operational, usually occupied by Keith during the daytime hours and Shiro during the night, but unless the team was being forced into some inane bonding exercise, it was hardly the place to hang around.

The kitchen would have been more interesting if they could find anything on board that resembled an oven, or even a cook-top stove. The alien appliances were, unfortunately, very alien, and none of the Paladins had quite discovered how to produce a decent batch of cookies with their limited supplies.

Thus came the boredom, and with it came the uncontrollable urge to explore every inch and corner of the Castle of Lions.

It was that exploration that had led Pidge into discovering the treasure trove of Altean media that was hidden away in the castle resources. The discovery of music in the white, alien-bright corridors of the castle was a blessing to the homesick paladins, and even Shiro, who had become even more goal-oriented since their last run-in with the Galran empire, seemed thrilled to have sound filling the hallways.

Hunk began to open up around them, his new confidence allowing him to cook more and more extravagant alien dishes, all of them weirdly gelatinous in consistency but eons better than the usual pre-made food goo. Lance had taken to filling the hallways with impromptu song and dance, and was usually too busy grinning from ear to ear to make any uncouth comments or childish jokes at the expense of Allura or even Keith. Shiro had begun to smile more often, and once or twice they even heard him laugh at one of Lance's more exaggerated dance moves.

Keith had started to wonder what having a family was like, and if it would be anything like this.

Pidge had been proud of the shift in atmosphere between them all, until Lance had mentioned the words 'Dance Party' within earshot of Allura.

It all went downhill from there, or, at least, it had from Keith's perspective.

Within five hundred ticks, the bridge of the castle-ship had been filled with food and drink and ribbons of a multitude of colours. Light had been dimmed to an undulating ombre of pink and gold, music was prepared, and the autopilot had been set to a steady meandering cruise through the stars.

Shiro had protested at first, as had Keith and, surprisingly, Coran. After some weedling and begging and general annoyance, however, the surprising power-duo that was Allura and Lance managed to wear all non-believers down into a state of reluctant agreement. It seemed as though 'team bonding' was a real buzz-word for the adults of the team, something that Keith loathed more than anything else at that moment.

He noticed with wry amusement that all of Shiro's hesitation about their time off had vanished with a couple repeats of Altean polka music and three glasses of blue-glow-punch.

"What is this stuff, anyway?" Keith asked, swirling his glass and then frowning. It was nearly empty.

Pidge rolled their eyes, tossing their head over to the punch table. The movement dislodged their too-big glasses, and they took one hand momentarily from their laptop to shove them back up their nose. "I have no idea; I'm not touching that stuff with a ten foot pole. Coran mentioned something about Xarian moon berries? Space wine? Personally I think it looks like you're drinking glow-stick fluid, but that's just me."

"Space wine it is," Keith said agreeably, downing the rest of his drink and then nodding to the refreshment table. His stomach was starting to feel pleasantly tingly, which he hoped was a sign of intoxication and not imminent death-by-space-wine. "Want anything?"

"Pass. Party food is beneath me."

"I, just saw you eat like, six of those goo-tarts Hunk made?" Keith said haltingly, brows furrowed. Was he missing something? It wouldn't be the first time.

Pidge snorted, and the grin that lit up their face was just a bit mischievous. "What are you, a cop?"

"What—"

"Oh shit , get under the table, go!" Pidge hissed suddenly, cutting off Keith's bewildered protests. They shoved him forward towards the refreshment table, but Keith's confusion delayed them just long enough for Allura to catch sight of them.

"Paladins!" she sang, floating forward in a cloud of gossamer robes. Her hair was up in its usual bun, a contrast to her casual clothes, and her face was flushed with excitement. Or maybe that was the alcohol. "Why aren't you dancing with us? Come, this is team bonding; we cannot continue without the entire team!"

Pidge made a choking noise not unlike a cat being stepped on, clutching their laptop closer to their chest like it might protect them, and Keith, being the benevolent person he was, chose to speak up in their stead.

"I don't dance," he said, monotonous.

Allura didn't miss a tick, her beaming smile never fading. "Then we shall teach you! Lance has been very..erm..instructive in your Earth dance movements, but thankfully Coran and I are also very knowledgeable in the subject!" She turned to Pidge and snatched up their hand, ignoring the stark panic on their face. "You too, Pidge! Join us!"

"I don't dance, either," Pidge stammered, looking both very pale and incredibly flustered at the same time, "Well, I mean, I don't dance not because I don't like to dance, but in that I can't dance, because, I have issues with coordination and rhythm, and I've only ever been to one dance and it was in middle school, and that didn't end well and David Nyugen never spoke to me again after that…"

Allura's smile slowly faded as Pidge rambled on, her eager happiness replaced by confusion, and hell, Keith really couldn't stand that kicked-puppy look she had.

He sighed, the sound long suffering and just a little bit fond.

Okay," he said, then cringed back when Allura's sparkling eyes immediately turned to him. "We'll dance, just..give us a minute, okay?"

"Of course!" Allura all but sang in response, beaming another hundred-watt smile that somehow, in this moment in time, was nearly as manic and terrifying as the one she used when urging them to train harder.

Keith forced back a shudder, and when Allura spun in a circle to flounce back across the room, turned his attention back to Pidge.

In retrospect, he should have expected the look of absolute betrayal they fixed him with.

"What was that ?" Pidge hissed, looking very much like they were considering dropping their laptop just to hit him. "What happened to Paladin solidarity? The Wallflower Code? I thought you were my friend."

Shrugging uncomfortably, Keith averted his eyes to Pidge's left shoulder to avoid their furious gaze. "She would never have left us alone if I hadn't agreed," he argued.

"That's a lie. You just fell for her puppy-eyes, didn't you."

Keith shrugged again, having no answer to give.

Glaring flatly, Pidge put their laptop down on the table, rolled up their sleeves, and then shoved at Keith's stomach with all of their might.

Keith didn't so much as budge.

"Uh..?" Perturbed, he looked down at them with raised eyebrows, the only sign that Pidge's shove had even affected him being the slight breathy quality to his voice. "Was that supposed to do something?"

"Yes!" Pidge exclaimed, throwing their hands up in the air in frustration and then promptly smacking them down on Keith's shoulders. "It was supposed to punish you for making me dance!"

"You're really weak," Keith observed, looking them up and down with wide eyes.

"I know that," Pidge said, shaking Keith with all of their might and standing on their toes to reach. "So do me a favour and pretend it hurt, you literal flaming asshole."

"Wow, Pidge. Rude." Keith deadpanned, bobbing back and forth slightly with the force of Pidge's shaking. When Pidge let out another wordless sound of frustration, looking quite literally like they might combust, Keith couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"Come on," he said, and shook his way out of Pidge's grip without breaking a sweat. He held out his hand to them, inviting. "Dance with me, or something. Then at least if we fail, we fail together."

Pidge eyed his hand warily, then, slowly as though it might bite them, reached out to take Keith's hand in their own. "Lance is going to laugh at me," they said begrudgingly even as Keith led them onto the makeshift dance floor.

Keith snorted uncomfortably, and shrugged. The glow-wine was really loosening him up, and mixed with the warm light that pulsed gently around them and the pleasant vibration of the music, he was quickly getting caught up in the feeling. "Lance is too plastered to laugh at us, and I think Coran has him pretty busy. Look," he gestured to the other side of the room, where the majority of the party was going on.

Pidge followed Keith's gaze and couldn't help but smile in fond amusement.

Shiro was leaning up against the wall, laughing so hard that his face was red and he was struggling to keep hold of his drink. His shoulders shook with mirth, and he looked younger and looser than they had ever seen him before. Allura was beside him, the picture of dishevelled radiance, tugging at his free hand and laughing just as hard in her attempt to pull him back out onto the dance floor.

Hunk was sprawled out on the steps, head in his hands and groaning in bemusement as, across from him, Coran was leading Lance in a fast paced Altean waltz around the room.

The duo spun and skipped and laughed, two pairs of long legs only just managing not to tangle together in the complicated movements, and as the music reached its peak, Coran dipped Lance into a dramatic bow, nearly causing his fluffy brown hair to touch the dance floor.

Allura let out a shriek of delight, abandoning her attempt to pull Shiro from the wall to clap wildly instead, and Pidge and Keith shared a look of pure exasperation as they joined the fray.

Maybe this would be worth some embarrassment. After all it had been far too long since they had seen their team quite this happy.

* * *

"You want me to what."

"I want you," Pidge said slowly, their eyebrow twitching in annoyance, "To teach me how to fight."

Keith looked down at them with trepidation, breathing hard as he swiped sweat from his damp forehead.

It was a few days after the impromptu dance party, and for once, the castle was quiet. Perhaps they had all had enough of Altean dance music. The night had ended with Lance passed out in a pile of discarded jackets, Shiro unable to stop giggling even with a black eye that none of them could explain the origin of, and Hunk spinning around with both Pidge and Allura to the point where he could do nothing but empty his stomach for nearly ten minute afterwards.

Keith had gone to bed shortly after the chaos had begun, leaving almost immediately after Coran had gone to check the castle's co-ordinates, but the morning after had been amusing to witness.

Too out of breath to answer right away, he rolled his eyes expressively and turned away, walking over to the side of the training room where he had left his water pouch.

Pidge waited impatiently as Keith took a deep swig of the purified water, their arms crossed tightly across their chest.

Taking perhaps a bit too much pleasure in making them wait, Keith took his time swallowing, and then took an extra moment to gather up the sweaty hair from the nape of his neck and pull it into a short ponytail.

"Well?" Pidge snapped, having finally had enough of waiting.

Keith snorted.

"Why do you want to learn to fight?" he asked, then immediately knew that it was a stupid question. "I mean, why do you want to learn from me?If group training isn't enough for you, why don't you work by yourself, or ask one of the others?"

"Because, genius, I can't exactly learn hand-to-hand by myself, Shiro would only baby me, Hunk's hands are as big as my head, and Lance is…Lance." Pidge complained, a flush of embarrassment starting on their pale cheeks.

Keith frowned, confused. "You could…just use the gladiator?"

"Look, if you didn't want to help me you could've just said," Pidge bit out, bouncing a little on their toes in agitation. "I have other things to do that don't require me being interrogated by you, so if you'll excuse me,"

"I didn't say I wouldn't help," Keith cut in before Pidge could turn away, and he smirked when they tossed him an incredulous look.

"Seriously?"

"Hey, you're bound to be a better fight than Lance, anyway."

* * *

Their nightly training sessions began the following sleep-cycle.

They thought it best to train in private, while the rest of the inhabitants of the Castle of Lions were asleep, or, at the very least, pretending to be.

Pidge claimed that their secrecy was to prevent another incident like the one time Lance had started singing "I'll Make A Man Out of You" during one of their training sessions and had subsequently been electrocuted by the Green Paladin's bayard, but Keith knew that it likely had more to do with them being shy.

Keith knew a thing or two about performance anxiety, after all.

Introverts had to stick together.

It turned out that while Pidge had little to no hitting power, they were fast, and had lightning quick reflexes that Keith was determined to put to use. The only problem was that, to put it simply, Pidge was too short and light to use the conventional Garrison-taught methods of fighting.

"Okay, no, look, you're doing it wrong. You have to shift your body weight just so , or else you're never gonna be able to get me off the ground."

"I'm trying , okay?" Pidge groused, huffing with exertion as they shifted their feet on the mat and tried once again to grip Keith's arm properly. "Shoulder throws aren't exactly easy."

Keith sighed, feeling Pidge tug at him and try, once again, to toss him over their shoulder and onto the mat. "You got the hip throw, Pidge. This really isn't much different. It's just in the arms."

"You think I don't know that? You practiced on me at least six times, you know." Pidge hissed, then strained with all of their might to heave Keith's unresisting body over their shoulder, bending in the process.

Keith's body bent with theirs, but while his heels left the ground, the rest of his weight did not so much as budge.

"You're just! So! Tall!"

"I'm really not, though. Most of these techniques are things I learned to fight people taller than me."

Pidge let out a sound of pure frustration, still bent as the waist with Keith's arm in their grip and screaming at the padded floor, and Keith decided that maybe it was time for a well-deserved break.

"Want to go back to working on your forms?"

"Yes, fuck yes, please."

It was later discovered that while Pidge had very little weight behind their punches, they had tiny, bony fists that hurt like the devil when jammed into someone's windpipe. After ten minutes of Keith wheezing on the floor and Pidge caught between hysterical laughter and panicked apologies, they decided that maybe they should call it quits for the night.

There was plenty of time to get better at this, after all. Pidge was sure that sooner or later, they would show the rest of team Voltron what they were capable of.

They couldn't wait to blow them all away.

* * *

"Okay, I'm not judging or anything, but you and Keith are suspiciously tired today," Hunk said by way of starting a conversation, pausing in the middle of stirring something in a large bowl that smelled almost (almost!) like sugar and nutmeg. "And by today, I mean every day for the past two weeks. Not that I've been counting. I have, like, so many more important things to do than spy on you and Keith and your possible illicit romance."

"Never go into acting, Hunk," Pidge drawled, their voice coming out muffled from where they had buried their face in their arms atop the table. "That was even more transparent than usual."

Unbothered and unapologetic, Hunk shrugged and resumed stirring. "You don't deny it, though."

"What is there to deny?"

The sound of plastic hitting metal paused suddenly, and the silence that followed was enough to rouse Pidge into raising their head in concern.

Hunk had gone still, posed mid-stir with the spoon held loosely in his large hand. There was a pensive frown upon his face, and his eyebrows had drawn together in an uncharacteristically severe expression. Pidge wasn't used to seeing Hunk look serious outside of his Paladin armour, but somehow the addition of a floral pink apron did nothing to lessen the effects.

"What?" Pidge said somewhat defensively, sitting up all the way and glancing around quickly. The galley was empty but for the two of them, and they could see a lecture brewing with no sign of distraction in sight.

Hunk let out a gusting sigh, and to Pidge's immense alarm, he set down the bowl he was holding and turned to face her, lips pressed together flatly.

"We're all worried about you, Pidge. You and Keith. You're both so tired every day during training, and it's starting to weigh on all of us as a team. Plus, haven't you noticed that Keith and Lance barely fight anymore?"

Pidge frowned. It was true. Every time they recalled Lance making some petty complaint in attempts to bait Keith into an argument, Keith had barely enough energy to do more than flip him off. After a while, even that small amount of fight had gone out of him.

"…It has been a lot quieter," Pidge admitted, fiddling with the cuffs of their sweatshirt.

"Yup," Hunk nodded emphatically. The worry had yet to leave his expression. "It has, and you know why?"

Rolling their eyes, Pidge parroted obediently, "Why?"

"Because Lance is giving up."

As if they had been struck, Pidge looked up sharply, meeting Hunk's sombre gaze with an expression of distress. "What, no, why would he—"

Their words were cut off as the doorway to the galley swished open and Lance himself came sauntering in, a sway to his hips and a sharp edged grin on his lips.

"Hunk, my man! Mi corazón, mon ami, my bestest buddy in th—"

"No matter how many times you compliment me, the cookies won't be done for another half hour, Lance." Hunk said in great exasperation. The serious look from before had melted from his face, replaced with an easy grin that only widened when Lance sagged in dramatic disappointment.

"What, really? I skipped lunch for this, dude. I am so ready to taste solid, non-goo food."

"You did what?" Hunk exclaimed, causing Lance to shift in place and shrug. Hunk sighed, sounding even more put upon that he had earlier. "Okay, nope, you're eating now. Come on, you big baby."

"But Huuuuuuunk, we JUST figured out how to make actual, edible cookiiiiies!"

Pidge watched in bemused fascination as Hunk somehow coerced Lance into dragging his feet across the kitchen, handed him a plate, and then shuffled him off to the goo-dispensers without once caving to the whining of his best friend.

"Wow, Hunk. That's some gift you've got there," they said with a wide grin, watching as Lance miserably stuck a spoonful of the bland, gelatinous food goo into his mouth. "You're like, the Lance Wrangler."

Hunk chuckled, a dark flush rising to his cheeks. He picked up the abandoned bowl and resumed stirring, but this time his movements were slow and relaxed. "Aw, it's nothing, really. I've just lived with this guy for so long that his puppy-dog eyes no longer work on me."

"Lived with, he says," mumbled Lance around a spoonful of goo.

Graciously, they both ignored him.

The cookies were in the (recently unearthed) Altean equivalent of a convection oven by the time Lance had finished choking down his entire plate of goo, aided only by Hunk's cheering and Pidge's increasingly unhelpful comments on the exact texture and consistency of the 'meal'.

(("It's like a plate full of boogers"

"Pidge, no, I'm gonna pull a Hunk and barf all over you. "

"Or like, snail slime. Snail slime from alien space snails."

"…Spails? Or would it be Snailiens?"

"Oh gods , what if they harvest it from real aliens? What if this is Arusian snail slime?"

"Lance what the fuck."))

It wasn't long before Pidge was back to lazing half-asleep on the tabletop, steadfastly ignoring the chores going on around them.

The tantalizing smell of pseudo-earthling food had begun to permeate the air, and it was as comforting as it was heartbreaking. The mood was surprisingly light despite the intense feeling of nostalgia that floated around them.

"No, but really, Shiro is just being a hardass," Lance was saying, waving his hands emphatically and spraying soap suds everywhere. "We could totally put on some disguises and slip down into an alien marketplace to get some actual ingredients, instead of having to forage and collect things for weeks just to make one batch of cookies. I mean, Coran could just shapeshift and bang! Space chocolate. Just saying."

Lance was supposed to be helping Hunk with the clean up, but really, he was just spreading more mess with every wave of the half-cleaned spoon in his hand. Both Pidge and Hunk knew that if they mentioned that, however, Lance would simply go into a tirade about how technically spilling soap made things cleaner, not dirtier. They had heard enough of that in the Garrison, thank you very much.

"Isn't it Allura's orders that keep us in the castle, though?" Hunk asked, frowning quizzically as he dried a mixing bowl with a fluffy blue dish cloth.

"Well, yeah. But I would never say a thing against such a fair maiden," Lance said, leering and wiggling his eyebrows in what he obviously thought was an alluring fashion.

Pidge snorted, watching the two of them through half-lidded eyes. They yawned and propped themself up on one elbow, raising an eyebrow condescendingly. "It's not like you're gonna lose her favour if you disagree with her, Lance."

Lance blinked at them, his mouth dropping open, and before he could get mushy on them, Pidge's amused expression morphed into a sharp smirk.

"That would require her to actually like you, first."

Lance's face dropped, then contorted into mock outrage. Behind him, Hunk choked out a laugh.

"They got you there, pal," he chuckled, then ducked back as Lance whirled on him, soap suds flying from the spoon in his hand.

"I'll have you know I am very desireable! The Princess is just playing hard to get!" Lance said to him emphatically, before turning to Pidge once more. "I had dozens of ladies swarming me at the Garrison, you little gremlin! Guys, too! I am a sex god !"

"Sure you are," Pidge shot back, their voice filled with far more vitriol than they would usually unleash on their teammates, "That's why you can barely get Allura OR Keith to look at you."

Lance's face drained of colour, his half-amused half-indignant expression sliding off like paint, and Pidge knew immediately that they had gone too far.

"I, wuh, no it's-" Lance stumbled over his words, then coughed, a flush of red coming to his cheeks. He swallowed visibly and straightened, pulling himself together.

Over his shoulder, Hunk stood frozen in obvious concern.

"Whatever, Pidge. Like I want that Mullet to pay attention to me. Looks like he'd rather spend time with you, anyway." Lance spat, very obviously avoiding eye contact.

Startled, Pidge sat up fully, their eyes wide behind their oversized glasses. "Lance, what are you-"

"Just..!" Frustrated, Lance tossed the spoon back into the sink, uncaring of how it splashed soapy water about. Emotions warred across his face, his chest heaving shallowly, before he deflated completely. A bitter smile worked its way across his lips, and he pushed his bangs back from his face with a damp hand. "Whatever. It doesn't matter."

Turning to Hunk, he smiled a little more genuinely. "Save me some cookies, alright, bro?"

"Lance-"

"No, I just..I'm just gonna go for a walk, okay? I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

Hunk stared at him for a moment, eyebrows furrowed in worry, before he sighed gustily and shrugged. "Sure thing, bro. Do what you need to. Just one thing, though."

Perturbed, Lance paused halfway to the door. "Yeah?"

Flatly, Hunk stared his best friend down and somehow, once again, managed to look vaguely threatening in a flowery pink apron. "Don't think you can get away from me tonight. We're going full-out cuddle mode, got me?"

Lance blinked once, and then let out an explosive snort.

"Yeah," he laughed, a smile tugging at his lips that almost (almost!) reached his eyes. "I wouldn't expect anything less, bro."

The way he left without another word belied his laughter, Pidge thought distantly.

As the door swooshed closed once more, Hunk let all of the tension drain from him. He sagged against the sink and groaned, tossing his head back in a dramatic fashion that was more reminiscent of Lance than himself.

"Just one drama-free day. Just one." he said mournfully to the ceiling, which offered him no reply. The room was silent, and after a moment he looked around, confused. "Pidge?"

They were staring at the doorway that Lance had disappeared through, a look of conflicted regret upon their face.

"I didn't..I didn't mean to say that," said Pidge quietly, a sick feeling coming over them. They suddenly felt a burning behind their eyes that they forced down ruthlessly, refusing to embarrass themself any more. They flinched sharply when Hunk's large hand settled on their shoulder, the warmth of his skin immediately sinking in along with its comforting weight.

"You're just tired. I know that, Pidge. I think Lance does, too. It's just..he doesn't like secrets. He doesn't like not knowing where he stands with people."

Pidge knew that.

No more secrets, Pidge had said, after the last time they had come out to the team and had a near-cataclysmic reaction from everyone. A lot of truths had come out that night. A lot of truths that Lance had been the one to help them through.

"But..it's Keith, you know?" Hunk continued, shrugging. He still had that serious look upon his face, but it was sadder, now. Solemn. "It's always been different with Keith."

Pidge knew that, as well.

It had always been different with Keith. Lance had been trying to live up to the legend that was Keith Kogane, always living in his shadow and trying so, so hard to impress him. To surpass him. To be him.

And now, because of Pidge, Keith didn't have the energy to spare Lance the time of day anymore. Guilt gnawed at them, sickly and burning, and they said nothing.

The ticker on top of the thermal induction regulator pinged, and Hunk made a soft sound of acknowledgement.

The cookies were ready.

"So what's the-" Keith dodged a well aimed side-kick with a huff, "-big deal, anyway? You're the one who wanted to keep this a secret."

"I know that," Pidge retorted, breathing significantly harder than Keith was and annoyed because of it.

It was once again a good few hours after lights-out, and the two of them had been at it for nearly forty minutes. Though Pidge had yet to master the art of tossing Keith over their shoulder like a sack of space potatoes, they had improved in leaps and bounds since they had first started their midnight training sessions. Sparring was, by far, the most enjoyable aspect of it all. Pidge had had quite enough of having their punches corrected and their stances widened, thank-you-very-much.

It was much more satisfying to take out all of their frustrations on a willing opponent of flesh and blood.

Pidge had a lot of frustrations.

"I just-" They stopped mid punch, their fist halfway to Keith's open palm, and sagged dramatically like an abandoned marionette. "I just feel like we should tell them. No more secrets between teammates, remember?"

Keith frowned, but dropped his stance as well, shaking his head gently. "That is what Shiro said," he allowed, the slightest of fond smiles tugging at his lips. "All right. Let's call it a night for now, and in the morning we can figure out how to tell the team that we've been up all night training without them for two whole weeks."

"Hey, better than them thinking we've been canoodling past curfew."

"Wait, what?"

Pidge cackled at Keith's look of incredulous horror, dancing backwards from him and tossing him a cheeky little wave. "Nothing, Keithykins, don't worry about it!"

"Pidge, what the actual hell are you goin' on about?"

"Goodnight, my fellow wallflower!"

"PIDGE!"

Darting into the changing room just outside of the training deck, Pidge closed the door behind them and let themself relax ever so slightly. It was going to be okay. They would fix everything in the morning, and Lance wouldn't be mad at them, and Hunk wouldn't be as worried, and Shiro wouldn't be as stressed out.

And maybe, just maybe, Keith would start paying a bit more attention when a certain Blue Paladin began needling him again. It really did wonders for the team's moral to have those two bickering at each other goodnaturedly.

With a game plan in mind, Pidge quickly stripped themself of their sweaty workout clothes to change into their green pyjamas, not bothering with a shower since they were only going to have to train more in the morning. They slipped out into the hall and began to trudge their way back to their room, their feet dragging and a yawn pulling threateningly at their lungs. In all honesty, Pidge was glad to be done with this ruse. It had been fun at first, and amazingly productive, but they were tired .

It was a bone-deep kind of tired, and one they weren't used to. Pidge was used to emotional exhaustion, and mental exhaustion, and the type of jittery weariness that spoke of downing one too many energy drinks past three in the morning. Exhaustion was usually accompanied by a cramped back and burning eyes, either from staring at their computer screen for too long, or from crying quietly to themself in the dead of the night, continuously and with no end in sight.

It was a sobering thought, but it was also a familiar one. Pidge was, after all, a creature of habit, and if they were going to stay up for all hours of the night, they would rather it be working on a new program or searching the Galra databases for their family.

Rubbing at their eyes behind their glasses, Pidge lost the war at containing their yawns, stretching with the force of it and hearing their ears pop irritatingly. Jeez, all that they wanted was to sleep for sixteen hours, but it looked like they were only going to get two or three, judging on the time and the amount of brain-slush they could feel creeping over them like a hazy veil. Everything ached, as well, all the way down to-

There was a hand on their shoulder.

Pidge moved on auto pilot, both panic and reason refusing to shine through the haze that was Keith's monotonous instructions and the desperate need for sleep. Before they could process anything other than their name being shrieked in surprise, Pidge had already stepped to the side, grabbed their attacker's arm with both of their hands, and used the leverage of one arm to haul them over their shoulder in a textbook perfect judo throw.

Lance went sailing over Pidge's lunging form in a sprawling pinwheel of arms and legs, only to slam into the floor at their feet with a deafening bang, his arm still caught in their vice-like grip.

Time seemed to slow down, lagging like a rebooting computer, and mortification hit them like a truck.

"O-oh my god! Lance! I am so sorry are you okay?!" Pidge squeaked, dropping Lance's arm like it had scalded them and immediately slapping their hands over their mouth in horror.

Lance made an inarticulate sound that at least proved that he was alive, his hand flopping listlessly down to the floor beside him. He coughed out a winded groan, his non-abused hand fluttering weakly to his chest, and after a moment of struggling to breathe, squinted up at Pidge dazedly.

"Ow."

Biting back a hysterical laugh, Pidge chewed on their fingers and hesitantly crouched down beside Lance's prone form, bouncing lightly on the balls of their feet as they went. "I am so, so sorry, I didn't mean to throw you, I mean, I didn't even know I could throw someone like that, especially someone your height. Maybe it's because you're so skinny? I mean I could never throw Keith like that but then again Keith never snuck up on me in the middle of the night like a quiznacking serial killer so-"

"Pidge," Lance groaned, his voice slurring ever so slightly. He raised an unsteady hand to Pidge's lips and prodded them gently with a shushing noise. "Shuddup. You're making my head hurt even worse."

Chastened, Pidge flushed and sighed, deflating. "Sorry," they said again, then took Lance's shushing hand in their own to carefully lever him up into a sitting position.

Immediately wincing and holding his head, Lance scrunched his eyes closed and breathed out an unsteady laugh. "What the hell, dude..? Guess I know now not to go sneaking up on you. Little bird's got some claws."

"I'm sorry," said Pidge again miserably, starting to feel like a broken record but seeing no end in sight. "I was just so tired and distracted, and my whole body hurts like it got run over by a herd of elephants. I really didn't mean it. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Lance hummed promptly, grinning. He made to stand, wobbling slightly, and Pidge watched in dismay as his face drained of blood and he immediately plopped back down onto the floor, holding his head in his hands. "Oooh, ow, okay. Maybe not. Holy crow, my head hurts."

"Oh my god, do you have a concussion? Do you need the healing pods?" Pidge asked quickly, choosing to ignore how their voice raised in pitch and seemed to wobble. They were so, so tired, and having a possibly-concussed Lance sprawled out at their feet, hurt because of them , was entirely too much drama for one night. Unfortunately, Lance Espinosa was nothing if not a drama magnet.

"I'll be fine, Pidge, just..gimme a minute, okay? I'll be back and bouncing in no time," Lance said cheerfully, ever the big brother. He mumbled a few more platitudes until his voice faded out to silence and he curled tighter around his head. A moment passed, tense and quiet, before Lance made a choking sound that was almost a laugh.

"Okay, no, nope, if I move I'm gonna pull a Hunk and no one wants that."

"You're gonna puke? Ew, Lance, no."

"Hey, you're the one who..the one who freaking tossed me like a..um.."

Pidge sobered as Lance struggled to come up with even a lame comeback. They sighed roughly, blinking away the exhaustion behind their eyes, and came to the conclusion that they were never going to get anywhere if they just stayed in the middle of the hall like this.

"Okay, here's the plan. Lance?" It took a moment for him to hum out a response, and Pidge pushed the worry to the back of their mind. "Sit tight, and don't puke. I'm gonna go get someone to help lug your lanky ass to a cryopod. Can you do that?" A thought occurred to them, quick as a gunshot, and they tacked on hurriedly, "..And don't fall asleep!"

" ¡No me digas!" Lance whined as sarcastically as he could manage with his head tucked between his knees. "You don't need to tell me, I took the same first aid courses in the Garrison as you did, remember."

"Yeah, but I actually paid attention," Pidge shot back, snarky even under pressure. They got to their feet hurriedly, shot one last glance towards Lance's miserable ball of pain, and started off the way they were headed. The paladin quarters.

There was no way that Keith was already asleep. It took ages for that boy to wind down after a sparring match.

Sure enough, it only took five seconds after knocking for Keith's door to slide open, and Pidge matched Keith's tired stare with a deadpan one of their own.

"I fucked up," they said as a way of greeting.

"Okay," Keith responded without blinking. "What happened and do we need to get Shiro?" He was the only one of the paladins that wouldn't frown disapprovingly at them for cursing. He thought it was funny, or something. Pidge thought that he was just a feral desert child, but either way, they were endlessly appreciative of it.

"Hell no," Pidge said immediately, then winced. "Well, maybe. Or at least Coran. I don't know how to work the healing pods yet."

That made Keith's eyebrows raise to his hairline, and he frowned so hard it was almost a pout. "What the hell did you do?"

"I judo flipped Lance and now he has a concussion probably."

It really was a testament to how much Keith loved them (though he was loathe to admit it) that all he did was sigh dramatically and go back into his room to put his boots on.

"No, hell no, no way."

"Come on, Lance. Don't be a baby." Keith said in great exasperation, looking down at Lance and scowling hard enough that Lance was lucky he hadn't set on fire yet. "Just let me help you to a cryo-pod."

"Yeah, Lance. Let Keith cradle you in his arms."

"Pidge we talked about this."

Cackling at Keith's reddening face, Pidge nudged gently at Lance's exposed side with their toe and snickered when he winced away from them pathetically like a slug shying from salt. "Come on, you big baby. You want to lay there forever?"

"It won't be forever," Lance insisted, though his argument was made weaker by how he still couldn't stand from the floor on his own without feeling so dizzy he risked throwing up. "Just a few more minutes. I'm not concussed, Pidgie. Just..taking a break."

"A break."

"Yes, Gyeong. A break. Ever heard of one?"

"Boys, boys," Pidge cut in when it looked as though Keith might start (literally) kicking Lance while he was down. "You're both pretty. Shut up."

Exasperated beyond belief, Keith crossed his arms and leaned his weight on one hip, glaring down at Lance and tapping his foot just to see him wince at the noise. "Come on, Espinosa. If you won't go to the med-bay, at least let me help you to your room so I can go back to bed and get some of that 'beauty sleep' you never shut up about."

"Oh, believe me," Lance drawled, his tone of voice changing so suddenly that both Pidge and Keith stiffened in preparation. "You don't need to worry about that, pretty boy."

Keith blinked, taking a moment to process Lance's rather blatant and slurred attempt at flirting, and then promptly turned bright red and spun on his heel.

"Okay, no, you can get your own ass to bed."

"Aww, Keef, no!"

After a seemingly endless shuffle that very nearly ended in Lance vomiting all down Keith's side, the two semi-coherent paladins managed to deposit Lance into his bed safely. It was decided along the way that if Lance wasn't in danger of passing out and could talk in mostly-intelligible English, he didn't really need a cryo-pod at all.

All he needed was rest.

Pidge felt a bit stupid for panicking, but really, after injuring a friend in the dead of the night, could they be blamed for freaking out?

Keith stalked out as soon as Lance was plopped down on his sheets, grumbling about seven am wake-up calls and morning training, but Pidge stuck around in a weird sense of loyalty as Lance squirmed his way under the covers. He still looked washed out and pale, possibly even more so after puking so fantastically all over the west wing of the castle, but he was grinning at them tiredly as he tugged the blankets up to his bony chin.

"Cheer up, Pidgeon," he mumbled, wiggling so dramatically under the covers that for a moment, before he reached out of the covers with one lanky arm to toss a black binder across the room, Pidge was sure he was having a fit or something. "I'm fine, you're fine, mullet is fine, and it's balls-o'clock. Go to bed."

"Yeah..I know." Pidge sighed. They really were exhausted, and now that they weren't distracted by the daily dose of 'Lance', all of the aches and pains from the earlier training session were coming back with a vengeance. "I doubt I'll be able to sleep now, though. My everything hurts like a bitch."

"Language," Lance mumbled sleepily, before blinking his eyes fully open and frowning at them. "What were you even doing up so late, anyway?"

"..I was training. With Keith." Pidge admitted. It felt foolish to say it out loud, somehow, even though Lance was half-asleep already. They plopped down heavily on the end of Lance's bed, and smiled a bit at the way it bounced them both on the mattress. "He's been helping me with my hand-to-hand at night for a while, 'cause I'm so weak compared to everyone else, but it's really hard. I'm tired."

"Wait wait wait," Lance said quickly, sounding offended. He rolled over to face Pidge properly, a frown pulling at his brows. "You, weak? Pidge, you just chucked me across the room with your bare hands. You're amazing. If anything, I'm the weak one. I'm the one with no special talents or..or any worthwhile contributions to the team! Who cares if you can't bench press as much as Keith? Neither can I! Have you seen these noodle arms?"

Pidge giggled despite themself when Lance flailed a hand out of the blankets towards them, then frowned, sobering. "You're not weak, Lance. Don't say that."

Lance huffed and waved them off with an airy sigh, a well-worn smile on his lips. "Whatever, it doesn't matter, anyway. It's late."

"...I guess."

They lapsed into silence, neither one of them making any effort to end the moment between them. Pidge jumped when Lance snorted suddenly, swinging around to stare at him in question.

"Nothing, nothing, just.." he broke off, then snickered tiredly. It was an adorable sound, half-delirious from sleep deprivation and the lingering head injury. "When you said you were hurting everywhere, I immediately thought you were on your period or something. Like, it made sense, especially considering how you snapped at me in the kitchen earlier."

Pidge winced and leaned back on their hands, guilt needling them once more. "Yeah...sorry about that."

"Hey," Lance nudged them through the covers with his foot, scowling playfully. "No more of that. But like, really, if you ever need anything for that sorta thing, I uh, I kinda already asked Allura if Alteans menstruate, just in case we can't find a replacement for HRT in space and shit happens, so..yeah. I have ways. Hit me up."

Pidge looked over at Lance in shock, a warmth blooming steadily in their stomach. They laughed lightly, slow and incredulous and impossibly fond, before flopping back onto the bed on top of Lance's feet. He squawked in protest, kicking feebly, and that only made them laugh harder.

"Thanks, Lance."

"Don't mention in, Pidge."

A moment passed, soft and warm and heavy with the cotton-wool feeling of sleep. Finally, when they couldn't take it anymore, Pidge spoke up drowsily with a wicked grin on their lips.

"You know that I don't have a uterus, right?"

"...Oh, come on."

It was a nice thought, anyway.


End file.
